Renting Misery
by JCBoLt
Summary: A crossover between Les Miserables and Rent. Not sure how to describe it. Rated for language and Rent-iness.
1. Chapter 1

**Grantaire as Maureen  
Enjolras as Joanne  
Cosette as Mark  
Eponine as Roger  
Courfeyrac as Mimi  
Bossuet as Collins  
Musichetta (Joly) as Angel  
Fem!Marius as Benny**  
**Onward!**

* * *

She was riding down the street on her bike when she saw the notice. Giant red letters on a sheet of paper plastered to a lamppost.

EVICTION NOTICE.

Cosette yanked one of the papers down, crumbling it in her hand while attempting to steady her camera on her bike.

Cosette was about 22 and jobless- of course. What other way would she live in New York City?

Her roommate was perched on top of the table, attempting to get one good lick out of her guitar. "Everything sounds wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong- wait-" She played that same sequence and groaned. "Shit. That's shit."

The lights went out and she slammed her guitar onto the table, running over to the power box. She shoved her hand in it and jumped back with the powerful electric shock. "Damn!"

Cosette walked in, dragging her bike and camera with her. She shoved the eviction notice in Eponine's face.

"Eponine, look at this." The short-haired brunette glanced at the notice in her friend's hand and yanked it out of her hand.

"This is bullshit. We can't pay this! We're starving, for God's sake!"

"I know. It's freezing." Cosette tightened her scarf around her neck. It wasn't usually this cold in the apartment.

"Yeah. Mary turned the heat off."

The phone rang and Cosette ran to get it before the answering machine could.

"Hello?"

"Hey, guess who's in town? It's Bossuet- throw down the key." Cosette ran out and blindly tossed the key right in front of Bossuet's feet.  
Eponine ran around the apartment, attempting to light candles with just one match. They only had half a box left, after all. You can't waste a limited supply on small things. You have to wait for the important stuff.

She started ripping her posters off of the wall, throwing them in the metal trash bin in the corner. "Come on, Cosette, start burning something!" The blonde dug through her desk drawers until she found her old stack of screenplays. She proceeded to throw those in, too. Afterward, she lit one last screenplay and threw it in, lighting up the entire contents of the bin.

Meanwhile, Bossuet, who Cosette had just thrown the key down to, was lying in an alley, moaning in pain. He had been attacked and mugged on the way to the apartment.

"Welcome back to town…" He mumbled under his breath. "I should lie down."

"Where is he?" Cosette asked, standing on the balcony, looking out in the darkness.

"Hell if I know," Eponine replied. They both went back inside, grinning at the fire they built.

"The music ignites the night with a passionate fire," Cosette joked, smirking at Eponine.

"The narration crackles and pops with incendiary wit!"

"Zoom in as they burn the past to the ground and feel the heat of the future's glow," Cosette said, mocking Mary's voice rather well. They ran outside, impressed that everyone was throwing out flaming notices from everyone's favorite landlady.

Eponine dragged Cosette back in, ushering her to grab the trash bin. They took it outside and dumped it over the balcony.

Mary jumped out of her car, ignoring all of the glares she was getting from the people who lived in the little tent city. Flaming papers were flying at her in every direction.

"Draw a line in the sand and then take a stand!" She shouted up at her former roommates.

"We're not gonna pay rent!" Eponine nearly screamed back. The rest of the crowd started up a chant of that same phrase and the two girls near the top of the building yelled it until their voices were worn out.

After the crowd calmed down, Mary raised her eyebrows at a homeless man leaning on her car. "Hey, bum, get off the Range Rover." He grinned at her and flipped her off before running his hand down the side of the car and leaving.

"Mary, that attitude towards the homeless is exactly what Grantaire is protesting!" Cosette yelled from the balcony.

"Grantaire is protesting losing his performance space. Not my attitude. Come down, I want to talk to you." Cosette went inside with the trash bin, leaving Eponine alone outside. She glanced down and saw the ever familiar face of the guy who lived beneath them. He grinned at her after blowing out a puff of smoke and she attempted a half smile back, following Cosette.

"Close up, Mary Pontmercy, our ex-roommate who married Louis Grey," Cosette said, filming Mary as she ripped down posters for Grantaire's protest. "Her father-in-law bought several buildings on the block and the nearby vacant lot, home to Tent City. She hopes to evict all of the homeless to build a cyber studio."

"Eponine," she said, demeaning as always, "You look great for a girl coming from a year of withdrawal."

"What do you want?" Eponine asked.

"What do I want? Well my investor-"

"Your father-in-law?" Cosette interrupted.

"My investor saw these posters for Grantaire's protest and sent me down here to collect the rent."

"You said we were golden! You know, when you lived with us."

"When you bought the building," Eponine snapped. "Remember?"

"Yeah, how could I forget? You, me, Bossuet, and the drama king, Grantaire. How is he, anyway? You still his production manager?"

"Not exactly." She turned around and glared at her shorter friend, who was sitting on the hood of Mary's Range Rover and snickering.

"Still dating him?"

"Nope. I was dumped," she spat. She still didn't like the word, or the circumstances.

"Did he find a new girl or what?"

"Well, no." Eponine's snickers were progressively getting louder.

"What's her name?" Mary asked.

"Enjolras," Eponine and Cosette said in unison. Eponine burst out laughing.

"Shut up, Eponine!" Mary doubled over, laughing even harder than Eponine.

"Sorry, sorry." Mary continued laughing, beating on the wall.

"Thanks for being so understanding," Cosette said, rolling her eyes.

"What, do you expect sympathy from the girl who shut off our power on Christmas Eve?" Eponine replied, raising her eyebrows at Mary.

"Got your attention, didn't it?"

"What happened to you?" She asked. "You used to have a heart and good ideals. Now you're just a soulless-"

"I'm the owner of the lot next door. I can do whatever I want to do with it."

"Happy birthday, Jesus," Eponine mumbled.

"The rent?" Mary asked, holding her hands out.

"You're wasting your time. We're broke," Cosette said. "And you broke your word."

"There is a way you can have this place for free again-" Eponine rolled her eyes.

"I knew it."

"Look, when the lot next door becomes CyberArts, you just come work there. It's the perfect place. What we always dreamed of."

"You can't just wipe out an entire population then watch Christmas cartoons on DVD."

"Imagine, the beauty of this studio. Where we can do our work and get paid. Just stop the protest, and all's well. You'll see… Or you'll pack." And with that, Mary left. And Eponine and Cosette went back to their apartment, extremely pissed.

Back in the alleyway, a man was playing drums on a plastic tub. At the moment, he was Eric Joly. Wearing jeans and no wig. He barely had any hair, to be honest. But more often, he was Musichetta. He continued beating on the tub and the metal trash can beside him.

A woman walked by and tossed a quarter onto the plastic tub. "Here you go." He picked it up and shoved it in his coat pocket.

"Merry Christmas!" He shouted after her, smiling. He went back to drumming until he heard someone coughing. You, of course, know that that is Bossuet. But Joly did not. He picked up his tub and bag and followed the sound until he found Bossuet. "Oh my God, you okay, honey?"

"I'm afraid so," Bossuet said, wiping the blood off of his mouth.

"Can I get you anything?"

"No, no, I'm fine, I swear." Joly sighed.

"I'm Musichetta." (We'll call her that from now on. It is respectful, after all.)

"Bossuet. Or Lesgle. Or L'Aigle. It doesn't matter." Musichetta reached down and grabbed his hand.

"Let's get you cleaned up." She helped him up, cringing every time he yelped. She walked with him, supporting him by holding his arm. "I have to hurry. I have a life support meeting to go to."

"Life support?" Bossuet asked.

"It's for people with AIDs. People like me." He nodded, chuckling slightly.

"Me too."

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed! See you next time!**

**-JC, the one who has crossover fever.**

**Edit: I fixed the formatting because I wrote this on my phone.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Welcome back, suckers. Enjoy the last chapter? Well, this one's pretty dope, too. so reAD IT OR I WILL- nope nope nope k just**

**ONWARD!**

* * *

"I was gonna go try to find Bossuet. Wanna come? I thought that when we found him, we could all grab dinner."

Eponine huffed and kept strumming her guitar. "Zoom in on my empty wallet."

"Touché. Take your AZT." Cosette left with her bike and camera, leaving Eponine in the dark apartment. She started strumming again.

"I'm writing one last song before I," she sang, fading off before she could say that last word. She didn't like it. She sat in silence again, then started plucking out Musetta's Waltz.

She hit a wrong note and stopped, playing it again. She hit that note wrong twice again before standing up and walking up to the roof.

She started to strum again.

"One song glory. One song before I… go. Glory. One song to leave behind," she sung. "One song, one last refrain. Glory, from the pretty boy frontman. A wasted opportunity. One song-" she stopped strumming and groaned. "That's pathetic."

She had been trying for years to come up with this damn song. Every time she'd find something good, it would go away in an instant, or it would start to sound, well, shitty.

Ever since Montparnasse died, nothing was the same. Sure, he was an ass sometimes, but Eponine did love him.

But the coward killed himself. That's what she told herself every day. But every so often, she would think that maybe he wasn't as much of a coward as he was a genius.

Escape the pain before it becomes too much to bear.

Because he found out that he had AIDs. That they had AIDs.

Every so often, memories would flood her head of when she would hold his shaking arm while he shot drugs into his blood. She would also get flashes of him doing the same with her.

She would get images of when they both got tested HIV+ and he held her while she sobbed.

She just wanted to find the right song. Before the virus took hold.

What a wonderful way it would be to go out like that. In a blaze of fire.

But with the rate she was going, that would never happen.

She sighed and walked back to the apartment, tossing her old guitar onto the couch.

As this was happening, someone who we have vaguely mentioned was walking up the stairs towards Eponine's apartment. And this someone was Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac Noyautre, to be exact. He was an… exotic dancer, if men could be called that. It was a living, though. It required him to be covered in glitter, but it paid well. At the moment, luckily, he had on regular pajama pants. No shirt. Obviously.

Courfeyrac knocked on the huge door of the apartment and heard a loud groan from inside. Heavy footsteps walked up to the door and slid it open.

"What'd you forget?" Eponine asked mechanically. She was expecting Cosette.

"Got a light?" He asked, holding a candle up next to his face.

"I know you, you're- You're shivering," She replied, leaning against the doorframe as he barged in.

"It's nothing- I don't have any heat. They turned it off. I'm a little weak on my feet. Would you light my candle?" She threw her jacket over his shoulders, completely disregarding the fact that she was far to small for it to help him at all. She stopped at stared at him for a moment. "What are you staring at?"

"Nothing! You look familiar, that's all." She struck a match and lit the candle for him. He stumbled slightly and Eponine automatically looked concerned and grabbed his arm. So gullible. "Can you make it?"

"I just haven't eaten much. The room stopped spinning, if that helps." She started staring at him again. He reminded her of Montparnasse. The smile, and the way his hair looked in the moonlight? It was uncanny. "What?"

"Sorry. Your smile reminded me-"

"I always remind people of… Who is he?" Eponine shrugged slightly.

"He died. His name was Montparnasse." Courfeyrac turned away from Eponine and blew out the candle.

"It's out again! Sorry about your friend." He reached over and patted her shoulder lightly in some sort of sympathy. "Will you light this again?" She nodded and struck another match. Courfeyrac edged closer to her as she lit the candle.

"Well…"

"Yeah?" The wax dripped on his hand and he jerked his hand away. "Ouch!"

"The wax is-"

"Dripping," Courfeyrac finished for her, grabbing her hand. He started to drag her hand down his chest. "I like it between my-"

"Fingers! Yeah, uh, I figured." She jerked her hand away. "Alright, you've got a fire. Goodnight." He grinned and walked away, blowing out the candle and feeling around in his pockets for his stash. When he didn't find it, he knocked on the inside of the doorframe.

"It blew out again?" She asked.

"No, no, I think I dropped my stash."

"I know I've seen you somewhere- when I used to go out." She glanced at the candle in his hand. "Your candle's out again."

"I know it was in my pocket when I walked in. Is it on the floor?" He started crawling around on the floor.

"The… floor?"

"I've been told that I have the best ass below fourteenth street. Is it true?" Eponine blinked and actually looked at his face.

"What?"

"You're staring… again." Courfeyrac grinned at the look on her face. Busted.

"N-No… I mean… you do… have a nice… I mean… You look familiar!"

"Like your dead boyfriend?" He asked, fighting back laughter. She looked so embarrassed. She got down on the floor with him, searching around.

"Only when you smile. I know I've seen you somewhere else."

"I work at the Cat Scratch Club. I dance." Her eyes lit up with recognition and she sat up.

"Yes! They used to tie you up." He sighed loudly.

"It's a living."

"I didn't recognize you without the handcuffs and glitter." Courfeyrac nearly groaned. This girl was a smartass.

"Will you please just light my candle?" He held up the _unlit_ candle and she rolled her eyes, striking another match.

"Why don't you forget that? You look like you're sixteen!" They both stood up, Courfeyrac walking around and exploring the apartment. There wasn't much to explore, though. It was just a couch, two beds, and a kitchen. If you asked Eponine, she would call it home. If you asked Courfeyrac, he would call it shit.

"I'm nineteen- but I'm old for my age. Born to be bad, you know?" Eponine snorted.

"Yeah, I used to be that way. I used to shiver like that." Courfeyrac froze. She was on to him.

"I have no heat, I told you!"

"I used to sweat."

"I have a cold," he said quietly.

"Sure. I used to be a junkie. Oh, here!" Courfeyrac spun around and nearly pounced on the horribly dressed girl. _Seriously, plaid shirts are not vests. _

"What's that?"

"Just a candy bar wrapper." He huffed and started looking around again. He grabbed his lit candle and sat next to Eponine on the couch. While he was turned around, she pinched the wick of the candle and put it out.

"What'd you do to my candle?"

"That was my last match," she said, mumbling awkwardly when Courfeyrac scooted uncomfortably close to her.

"Our eyes will adjust. Thank God for the moon." Eponine coughed and pushed his hand off of her leg.

"It might not be the moon… Spike Lee's shooting down the street."

"Bah humbug." He grabbed her hand. Surprisingly, his was far smaller than hers.

"Cold hands…"

"Yours too. Pretty big for a tiny girl. Wanna dance?" He pulled her up and spun her around.

"With… you?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"_No._ With a chair." Eponine shrugged.

"I'm Eponine."

"Courfeyrac." He pulled the bag of white powder of her pocket and stalked off, grinning and shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Eponine got up early to grab a cup of coffee when the phone rang. "Hey, Sette, we got power!" Cosette cringed as the phone rang.

"Merry Christmas, I guess."

"SPEEEAAAK," the answering machine screamed. In hindsight, that answering machine wasn't really the best idea in the world.

"Cosette… It's your dad. Are you there? I bet you're screening your calls. I'll miss you today! I hope you like the hot plates. Azelma and the kids are over today. I wish you could come see them. I heard about you breaking up with Grantaire. Well, I say, let him be gay!" Eponine laughed into her newspaper. "C'est la vie. He doesn't know what he's missing! Well, happy holidays." He hung up and Cosette sighed.

"You know, there are times when we're dirt broke and half starving and freezing and I ask myself, 'Why the hell do I still live here?' And then I get a call from my dad and I remember." Eponine laughed and looked over at the window.

_XMAS BRUNCH. JUST US? COURF._

_That little shit wrote a message in the dust on our window. _She stood up to get a better look and Cosette followed her.

"What's that?" Cosette asked. Eponine shrugged halfway.

"Guy from downstairs."

"The dancer from the Cat Scratch club? You're going, right?" Eponine shook her head no. "Oh, come on, Ep! I bet it would be fun!" She wiggled her eyebrows and Eponine groaned.

"Merry Christmas, bitches!" Bossuet said, busting through the huge door. "Your keys, Cosette?"

"Yeah, after 14 hours. What the hell happened?" Cosette hugged him and he groaned. "Are you alright?"

"Never better. You know what? You two could use some Stoli!" He pulled out a bottle from the box in his arms, pouring it into paper cups.

"You struck gold at MIT!" Cosette said, grinning.

"Nope, they expelled me for my actual reality theory."

"How the hell did you get all this money, then?" Eponine asked, downing one cup and pouring herself another.

"Ladies, I'd like you to meet Musichetta Joly." Musichetta burst through the door in her normal black wig and a velvet Santa-themed dress. "You should hear her on the drums."

"You earned all this on the street?" Cosette asked, bewildered.

"It was my lucky day, actually. I got paid 1000 dollars by a lady in a limousine to drive a little Akita out of a window with my drums. It's name was Evita or something like that. I got a bonus for trimming her tree. And then I met Mr. Bossuet over here after he got himself mugged, and… here I am!"

"Nice work," Eponine said, grinning. The phone rang.

"SPEEEAAAK."

"Cosette," Grantaire's voice said. Cosette sighed exasperatedly. "It's me, Grantaire. Look, I have a problem." Eponine and Bossuet both stared at Cosette. Bossuet noticed the note on the window and glanced at Eponine. She shook her head again and he sighed. "I hired Enjolras as my production manager and I don't think he knows what the hell he's doing. If you could just… uh, please come over to the performance space and-" Cosette picked up the phone.

"Hey, Grantaire, hi." Bossuet stood up, lighting a cigarette. Musichetta was too busy laughing at Cosette's lack of self control with Eponine. "Yeah, I'll be right there. Okay, um, see you soon." She hung up and huffed. "Can you believe him? I mean, first he dumps me…"

"Ooh… Grantaire dumped you?" Bossuet asked.

"Yes. He dumped me for a lawyer named Enjolras." Eponine grinned and started laughing again- this time with Musichetta as back up.

"Burn," Bossuet said through chuckles.

"And now he wants me to come fix his sound equipment!" Eponine rolled her eyes.

"Sette, you could've said no," she said.

"I know, but-"

"Oh. That's cute. You still love him," Bossuet teased, taking a drag of smoke.

"Yeah, right."

"You do!"

"Bossuet, we have to go," Musichetta said, tapping his shoulder.

"Oh, yeah, we're headed out. You two wanna come?" Bossuet was mostly asking Eponine.

"Where?" Eponine asked.

"Life support."

"On Christmas?"

"Some people don't have anywhere else to go today," Musichetta said. "You should come."

"Knock yourselves out," Eponine mumbled.

"Cosette, everyone's welcome. It's not just for people with AIDs, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be there. I have to go save this protest, though."

"Told you so," Bossuet mumbled. "Whipped." On his way out the door, he shouted, "Ep, it's Christmas, don't mope in the house all day like a teenager."

* * *

**Read? Now review. NOW.**

**-JC, the one who demands your input.**

**plz**


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